Never Do We Know – National Poetry Month day 12 with P.F. Chan

Welcome to day twelve of National Poetry Month.  Fellow writer B.G. Bowers is also doing National Poetry Month on her website.  You can find my contribution to her blog here:  http://bgbowers.com/ 

Today I have fellow Meetup member, author and poet P.F. Chan.  His wonderfully thought provoking poem is below.  DC fans should especially check out his FanFiction site to read more of his work.  Enjoy!

Never Do We Know

In our world only the powerful are allowed to read and only the intelligent to write. The hierarchy of the old world, the world before the war, has infected ours and now we suffer.

We, of the untouchables, suffer from ignorance; neither can we read, neither can we write. Never do we know what the colours of coin means, what their value is. Never do we know what the symbols mean, the swirls and the lines. Never do we know, never do we know.

We, of the skilled, suffer from ignorance; neither can we read everything, neither can we write. Never do we, the builders, know anything but the wood, but the stone, but the metal. Never do we know what the colours of the coin means, what their value is. Never do we, the gunsmith, know anything but the pistol, but the rifle, but the bullet, but the rocket, but the strap, but the bayonet. Never do we know what the colours of the coin means, what their value is. Never do we know, never do we know.

We, of the merchants, suffer from ignorance; neither can we write. Never do we, the fish mongers, know anything but the weight, but the catch, but the cost, but the expenses. Never do we, the general merchants, know anything but the haul, but the haggle, but the cost, but the expenses. Never do we, the gem merchants, know anything but the fineness, but the carrot, but the dazzle, but the sparkle, but the cost, but the expenses. Never do we know, never do we know.

We, of the warriors, suffer from ignorance; neither can we write everything. Never do we, the soldiers, know anything but the kill, but the blood, but the screams. Never do we, the commanders, know anything but the orders, but the morale, but the mission report. Never do we, the Generals, know anything but the orders, but the strategies, but the mission write ups, but the cost, but the expenses. Never do we know all of the squiggles and the lines. Never do we know, never do we know.

We, of the Kings, suffer from ignorance; neither can we write everything. Never do we know anything but the cost, but the expenses, but the war, but the relation, but the orders. Never do we know all of the squiggles and lines. Never do we know, never do we know.

We, of the intelligent, suffer from ignorance; never do we know the outside. Never do we know anything but the lines and squiggles, the beauty of the pen, the beauty of the word, the need of a world. Never do we know what the outside looks like. We write of things we’ve never seen, what we’ve never felt, what we’ve never smelt. We write about things that we’ve only read about, by people who have only read about. We write about things that we’ve never seen, because we stand apart… and only the intelligent write.

by P.F. Chan Copyright 2014

Other Books: Raven, https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5384103/

Facebook Account: https://www.facebook.com/pages/PF-Chan/1377043085880519?fref=ts

 

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